


That's a Dream of A Different Color

by fleurofthecourt



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Coma, Comfort Reading, Dreams, Hunger Games AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurofthecourt/pseuds/fleurofthecourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe reads to Nick even though he's not sure Nick is listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's a Dream of A Different Color

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePam/gifts).



> This is apparently what happened when my best friend asked me to write a Grimm Hunger Games AU...hope you like it.
> 
> Title notes: "Now, that's a horse of a different color" and I would just like to add that by different color, I mean technicolor.

“Run!” He shouted as he grabbed the older boy’s hand as a hail of fire tipped arrows fell on the grassy field before them. 

He wasn’t sure why he did. It was foolish on so many levels he couldn’t count them, but Nick didn’t have time to think about that. There was no cover from anything for several yards and neither of them had anything with which to retaliate. Consequently, they were left with the choice of run or die. They both chose run.

When they crossed the clearing, there was a creek bed on one side and a canopy of trees on the other. The older boy gestured for Nick to follow him through the trees, and Nick was surprised at how adept he was at winding through the forest, seemingly on scent alone. Though the older boy may have been better at tracking, Nick was faster, so it evened out that they matched each other stride for stride.

Considering the girls that had been firing the arrows at them to have been successfully left behind, they finally stopped, breathless, after running for what had seemed like miles, collapsing against several fallen trees, which served to provide some much needed cover.

The older boy reached for the bag on his back, flicking away the embers from an arrow that had just missed him, and pulled out a water bottle. He drank a few sips before handing it to Nick.

As Nick took the water bottle, the boy pushed Nick forcefully against the fallen tree and growled low at him, “You shouldn’t help people you don’t know in here. You don’t know who you can trust.”

Nick recoiled as much as he could while being pinned down, dropping the water bottle, then blinked in astonishment as the boy’s eyes glimmered red and his face bristled with fur and whiskers. He worked hard to stifle a scream as he tried to remind himself that a scream out here could cost him his life.

Apparently, the effect had been mutual as the other boy’s eyes went wide and he rolled away from Nick, “Grimm! In the arena of all places! I thought for sure my parents had made that up.”

“Made what up?” Nick asked, as he remained in a supine position, too confused and shocked to move.

“Oh god, you don’t even know,” The boy said as he shook his head. He looked solemn for a moment before saying, “Well, if we’re going to be in this together, at least tell me your name. Mine’s Monroe.”

“So, you’re not going to kill me?” Nick asked hesitantly. The reasons why he shouldn’t have taken Monroe’s hand in the first place began flashing through his mind. He was an older, stronger stranger from district three, one of the districts that his aunt had always told him were nothing but trouble, though she had never said why. When he had hugged her goodbye, she had whispered in his ear, “Beware of the odd districts, there’s more to those no good creatures than meets the eye.”

It had always puzzled Nick that she called them ‘creatures’ rather than people, usually spitting the word out with a disgusted vehemence, but he was starting to suspect that there may have been a rhyme and reason to it.

“No, I’m not going to kill you. I was just trying to make a point,” Monroe said as he watched Nick sit back up and look longingly at the upturned water bottle, which was now dripping some of its precious contents onto the forest floor. “Now stop being an idiot, which is what I’m going to call you if you don’t tell me your name, and drink some of that water.”

“It’s Nick,” He said as sipped at the water, trying his best not to drink all of it as he wasn’t sure when they would be able to find more.

“Well, aside from getting the hell away from the Amazonian arrow throwers, did you have a strategy for staying alive?” Monroe asked.

Nick shrugged. His plan, which had been working to the degree that he was still alive, was simply to run.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monroe set the book aside and pulled his chair closer to the bed so that he could cup Nick's hand in his own. Reading _The Hunger Games_ aloud was as much for his own benefit as it was for Nick's. The first day or two, he had just watched Nick sleeping, but every flicker of the eye and twitch of a finger had left him wondering if Nick was waking up. The hope was almost unbearable. He needed a distraction from the situation as well as the fading beige walls of the hospital room.

He wasn’t sure if dystopian young adult fiction was the appropriate choice, as Nick never talked to him about reading, well, Grimm books aside, but it was engaging and certainly escapist, which was exactly what he needed. If Nick could hear him, well, he would be hearing about people getting into more serious situations than even he usually managed.

"If you were anything like Katniss, man, you might not be in here. You trust people too easy. Of course, then I probably wouldn't be reading to you either,” Monroe said as he thought about both the accident Nick should have seen coming and how Nick had gone from accusing him of being a kidnapper and asking him for help looking for the actual kidnapper in less than a twenty-four hour turn around. “She knew Peeta fairly well before the games started, and she still questioned his motives. You should do that more. Man, I can’t even imagine what it would be like for you in the arena, especially with Wesen. Terrible probably, if memory of the Lowen Games is any indication. At least I know if we were in it together, we’d be backing each other. How we would both get out alive without divine intervention or, you know, your partner, is another matter entirely.”

As Monroe heard movement in the hallway right outside the door, he abruptly loosened his grip on Nick’s hand and fell back against the chair. On a basic level, he knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed to be holding an unconscious man’s hand in a hospital, but he also knew that his relationship with Nick made it more intimate than a mere attempt at stimuli. He picked the book back up and began flipping back to where he left off. He was surprised when it was not a nurse that came into the room, but Nick’s partner. He assumed that Hank came to visit occasionally but in the past week, the times that they had both been there had never coincided. Monroe had hoped it would stay like that because this was inevitably going to be an awkward encounter.

“Hey, you’re Nick’s clock guy? It’s Monroe right?” Hank asked as he glanced at Nick, shook his head, and then sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the bed. 

“Yeah, I’m Nick’s friend,” Monroe said, emphasizing the word friend, feeling that ‘clock-guy’ was a fairly inaccurate description both of his profession as a clockmaker and of his semi-partnership with Nick. “Just thought I’d read to him.”

“ _The Hunger Games_? Reading’s not really my thing, but I’ve heard good things,” Hank said as he gave Monroe and the book a skeptical look. His expression clearly stated that he thought this was the idea of a lunatic. Granted, the various incidents that had led Monroe and Hank’s paths to cross likely made Monroe seem at the least a little off kilter. However, Hank’s next question surprised him, “Is it helping?”

“I mean, I suppose it could be. He’s no better or worse than before I started,” Monroe said as he glanced over at Nick, who’s still form betrayed nothing. 

“I’m sure it couldn’t hurt. And I’m sure Nick appreciates it or, at least, would appreciate if he knew you were doing it. Especially since it’s you. He’s usually eager to get your help when he needs it,” Hank said.

“Probably because I don’t kick him out when he asks for it,” Monroe said, feeling that that was the truth of the matter.

“Like you would want to,” Hank said cynically, under his breath, but Monroe still caught it. He wanted to ask what that was suppose to mean, but he was certain the conversation would be unredeemable uncomfortable after that. After a moment, Hank added, aloud, “Well, the department certainly appreciates your help.”

“Even this last time?” Monroe asked before he could stop himself. He knew what had happened wasn’t even remotely his fault, but he also thought the police department might not see it that way. Not that they had fingerprinted him or anything like that, but he had been there and they hadn’t, and Nick had been severely injured. It was a little unorthodox to say the least. 

“Just because things didn’t go right doesn’t mean the help wasn’t appreciated. Besides, it’s not like you came out of that fire in one piece,” Hank said perfectly seriously as he glanced at Monroe’s right arm, where a thick bandage which was wrapped tightly around a rather severe burn. “What were you doing there anyway?”

Monroe wanted to laugh. He couldn’t explain with a straight face that Nick had wanted him to sniff out the poisonous, limb-eating plants that were integral to solving the case. Unfortunately, the address of the building they had been looking at had been provided by a suspect that Nick had thought was a victim. Instead, he settled on saying, “I think he wanted my green thumb and nose for detail.”

“Were you the one that turned those plants into evidence then? That’s really something,” Hank said, looking genuinely impressed. Then he whistled, “I just can’t believe that whole greenhouse caught fire and collapsed.”

Monroe shook his head. He’d been there, and he almost couldn’t believe it. He and Nick had been looking at exotic foliage one minute and the next they had both been running, dodging flame and glass, and Monroe had just kept running. He’d thought Nick was right behind him. But when Monroe looked back, blinking back tears as smoke filled his eyes, it was to see Nick behind him on the floor with a shard of glass jutting from his forehead, blood dripping down his face. It was an image Monroe wanted to forget but could not stop seeing.

**Author's Note:**

> 3/26/14: This should probably be considered abandoned because I started it when Hank didn't canonically know about Wesen or Nick & Monroe's relationship and those seem like such distant problems now.


End file.
